Epilogue Alan Huffman

Someone stole Angie Baxter’s yellow Toyota from the Murrah parking lot one
day, then brought it back and parked it in the same spot.

She figured out what
happened because the gas tank was empty and there was popcorn on the
floor. We had to laugh. For most of us, that was about as bad as it got at Murrah.
Some students did experience truly traumatic events, but overall, ours
was a remarkably smooth transition, considering what was at stake.

It’s true that some students—black and white—were harassed now and
then. I was harassed, but it was really just a test, a way for a group of guys
to show dominance. I was nervous walking the halls for a few days because
there were four or five of them, but it wasn’t like I could hide, so I ignored it
as best I could and eventually it went away. It was just garden-variety bullying,
the kind that happens in any school. In a way, it helped prepare me for minor
conflicts later in life.

In hindsight, most of the bumps we experienced seem inevitable, yet they
pale in comparison with racial crimes that had been committed before, or
with violent crimes that are routinely committed in Jackson today.

Our experience illustrates that integration could have and should have
worked. Even Barry, Amelia, and Cassandra recall enjoying much about their
time at Murrah, and learning from it, which has something to do with the fact
that we were in it together, exploring new territory. But for a variety of reasons,
enough white parents pulled their kids out during the coming decade
that integration eventually failed at Murrah, which is something we did not
foresee. Today, Murrah is basically a black school. It would have been interesting
to see where the school would have gone had the dynamic we experienced continued.

As it was, the black/white ratio of the student body went from 60/40 in our
junior year to 65/35 during our senior year, and by then, the writing was on
the wall.